Yet another "What goes around..."

[Forensics Doc]

In 2001 I was working as a forensic anthropologist excavating mass graves in Sarajevo, Bosnia for an international agency. My job was to excavate the people in the mass graves (up to 300-400/grave), take them back to the makeshift morgue, and do a complete workup of age, sex, stature, and trauma from the bones.

As the lone American among a team of native Bosniaks, I was the target of many practical jokes, all of which were in good fun. My crew was forever pulling something over on me, knowing all the while that their time was coming.

One day were were eating goulash for lunch, and I was sitting at a makeshift picnic table with the rest of the crew when one of them called me by name, "Reek." Actually, my name is Rick but given what I was doing I suppose Reek was probably more appropriate than I knew. Besides, "i" is pronounced "e" in Bosnian. I turned to look at him and he just smiled and gave me a "never mind" sort of gesture. I then turned back toward the picnic table and stuck my spoon in the goulash. When I withdrew it it had an absolutely enormous worm draped across it. This sucker was huge! If I had them back in the States I would be the first bait shop owner to retire a millionaire!

The table just broke up! Everyone was about to choke on their goulash, and I found out moments later that the worm had been put there by Osmo, one of the workers seated beside me, just as I turned around. It hadn't been there all along, thank goodness. They had gone to a lot of trouble to set up the gag. They said the look on my face was something else. Anyway, I told them through gestures that a payback was in order, but he expected it anyway. Over there you have to be able to show you can dish it out as well as you can take it.

A short time later we went back to work, and I was working beside Osmo. We had a skeleton sticking out of an embankment and he and I were both on our hands and knees cleaning off the bones. Now, besides these mongo worms, this place was full of these little 4-5 inch lizards. They're fast like all lizards are, so catching one is nearly impossible. But as the saying goes, "Even a blind hog gets an acorn every now and then."

Anyway, as I was on my hands and knees I saw this little lizard peeking out from under a rock. I made a grab for it, missed, and the lizard ran around the other side of the rock and ducked under. The problem was, from the lizard's point of view, that he had left part of his tail sticking out. I grabbed it, pulled the lizard out, and he was mine.

At the time I had no particular plans for it other than to look it over and let it go. As I straightened up, though, I saw Osmo all bent over with some cleavage showing. Now, I'm not talking about cleavage in the sense we generally think of it. I'm talking about the kind that's on the other side and a bit lower on the anatomy. As hot as it was, many of us were given to wearing as few clothes as possible, except what was necessary to maintain decency and ward off mosquitoes. Osmo obviously had opted to leave his drawers at home that day. His shirt was up, his pants were down, so I said, "Why not?".

As I swung the lizard in that direction, some of the gravediggers saw what was coming and started poking each other and grinning. Some others never knew what was coming. Anyway, I dropped the lizard down the cleavage, and that's when the fireworks started. Osmo let out a scream you could have heard in Belgrade, jumped to his feet and started tearing madly at his pants. The main problem at that point was that instead of a proper belt he had opted for the traditional rope, which he had obviously tied in a VERY secure knot. To make matters worse, he had looped the ends back under the rope itself, so he couldn't even get to the ends to untie it.

Well, I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it. Here was poor Osmo trying desperately to get his pants off, unable to do so, screaming like a banshee, and doing a dance that would bring rain to Death Valley. To make matters worse, he was stomping up and down on the very skeleton we had worked so hard to uncover.

And that was just the beginning. The gravediggers had a habit of tucking their pant legs into their boots rather than leaving them on the outside as I did. I liked it better on the outside because it prevented dirt and grass and stuff from getting in my calf-high rubber boots. My guess is that by now the poor hapless lizard had dropped down the legs and into the boot about the time he got his rope belt undone because just as he got his pants down around his knees Osmo began frantically grabbing for one of his boots. This caused him to lose his balance and fall on the part of the anatomy where the lizard had first made contact. He then grabbed the boot, slung it off, grabbed for the other one, slung it off, and finished ripping off his pants. I have no idea what happened to the lizard by that time.

By now, we all had tears coming down our faces we were laughing so hard. Osmo was covered in leaves and dirt and was now naked (nekkid, if you're from Tennessee, as I am) except for his shirt. Our crew boss was doubled up and holding his sides he was laughing so hard, and a couple others were about to fall off the spoil pile. I looked up to the roadway about 20 feet above me, and it was lined with folks who had been at other locations at the site but had heard the action.

Poor Osmo still didn't know what had happened and it was some time before anyone could quit laughing enough to tell him. When he looked over at me I said through a translator, "Payback for the worm." Osmo took stock of the situation, thought it over for a moment, and then joined in the laughter. He then came over, clapped me on the back, and said (again, through an interpreter), "Good one!" Osmo put his pants on again, but he had to have one of the guys go down the hillside and retrieve one of his boots he had thrown it so far.

We worked side by side the rest of the day, and occasionally he would thump me on the back and grin and make wild gestures like he was ripping his clothes off. The other guys, too, would say, "Osmo!" and begin screaming and acting like they were trying to get their pants off. It was just too funny. To the day I left Bosnia 8 months later they still were talking about it.

[BigDave]

Great story!

[short_round]

[SiG Lady]

I have an LEO acquaintance doing a stint in the Balkans just now, and after 1½ years of being over there (come March) I'll be helping him write a short book about his experiences. Moreover, he has a sense of humour to begin with, so we 'll probably have a good time with some of his third-worldish 'adventures'.